


When You Are But a World Away

by Michelle_A_Emerlind



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bottom Lafayette, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Sappy, Top Washington, WAY TOO SWEET, past pining, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/pseuds/Michelle_A_Emerlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After months of flirting across an ocean, Lafayette travels to New York to get his man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Are But a World Away

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Monticello Furlough](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6764224) by [Michelle_A_Emerlind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/pseuds/Michelle_A_Emerlind). 



> A few notes: 
> 
> * First, thanks to the lovely [Skarlatha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha) for betaing, as always!
> * Another special thanks to [Elfyne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfyne) who was kind enough to talk with me on Tumblr and help me correct my French!
> * In addition, this story can be read standalone, but it is in the same verse as [The Monticello Furlough](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6764224/chapters/15459736) and takes place between chapters ten and eleven.

It started by accident. Lafayette had been struggling through his day, the weight of the political mess in France anvils on his shoulders, when his phone had gone off in between meetings. His eyes had scanned the text, a simple “hi” and he had frowned before looking at the sender, seeing one George Washington.

It wasn’t that he and Washington weren’t close. They were good acquaintances. Lafayette would even call them friends. But they weren’t texting friends and anyone who was anyone knew how Washington treated modern technology like radioactive waste. Lafayette had gathered up the energy he wasn’t feeling that day and texted back: “Hi, mon ami! How is America?”

Twenty minutes later, he got a profuse apology and an explanation that Washington had been trying to text Jefferson and that was it. The conversation had trailed to a stop, despite how the text had curiously lit up Lafayette’s face and, if truth be told, he had been enamored from the start with Washington’s adorable shyness via text coupled with his calm, confident demeanor in public.

Of course, it would take months for Lafayette to fall in love, but he would admit that the journey there had been wonderful.

***

Now, he is in a car. A rental car. In America, driving from Monticello up to New York and praying to every saint he has ever heard of that Jefferson and Hamilton are going at each other in the _good_ way and Jefferson won’t be texting him an SOS before he arrives at his destination. Which is Washington. It has been, metaphorically, Washington all along.

Of course, Washington has no idea that Lafayette is currently in a car, in America, speeding a rather good amount on his way to his office. The trip is definitely unexpected, even more so for Lafayette than Washington as Lafayette didn’t even know he would be on a plane to Virginia forty-eight hours ago. But when his best friend needs him, his best friend needs him. Doesn’t mean he can’t sneak a day off, though, to the bustle of New York and fight through the winding crowds and hot debated discussions to arrive at Washington’s desk, breath catching and heart in his throat.

Because that’s how he feels right now. Nervous and jittery and not at all French. Or perhaps overly French. He’s not sure which. Either way, he’s racked with anxiety for the simple fact that he’s still not sure if Washington has been flirting or not. Of course, there is evidence in his favor. For one, Washington texts him at all hours of the day. Granted, it’s not eloquent and granted it never gets very far away from a “hi” or a “it’s raining here” or, every once in a great while, a picture of a flower that Lafayette’s not sure he knows what to do with. But he’s trying and Lafayette holds on to the sentiment that he wouldn’t be bothering if he didn’t _like_ him just a little. Right?

And then there are the phone calls. Washington is much more comfortable with those and they have taken to calling one another right when Washington gets off of work, which means Lafayette is near bed and there have been several occasions in which they talk while Lafayette is under the covers, Paris quiet around him. He loves those simple conversations that no doubt start with a comparison of the political climate in America and France that quickly dissolve to a slew of personal and randomized things--Lafayette’s favorite type of croissant, the book Washington has just finished reading, the season they agree is their favorite.

Sometimes, the conversations even dip further and Lafayette will still as he listens to Washington, afraid to disturb the slow and careful words that worm their way from his mouth. He talks of Martha, of their mutual disassociation, how he misses her and hopes she is happy with Angelica. He contemplates his own loneliness and even once expressed to Lafayette how afraid he was that he would never find someone and that even though he had come out to Martha, he had never so much as been on a date with a man before. Lafayette remembers how Washington had asked his advice on the matter, Lafayette lying in his bed dying of irony. 

But it’s not just Washington that reveals too much of himself to a man that’s an ocean and a heart away. Lafayette finds himself speaking, too, of his own loneliness. Especially since Thomas left. He can’t decide if he is American French or French American, but either way his dual love of both countries has created a weird juxtaposition within himself that leaves him never quite content and never quite able to connect with those around him. He covers up his uncomfortableness with a bright, smiling face, with a happy-go-lucky tone to his voice, and an energy to his limbs that belies his own exhaustion. And if there are cracks in his facade, if there are small moments in which he can be seen through the carefully crafted mask he has adorned for himself, well, no one sees it. No one but George, that is.

Which is point number three on Lafayette’s list of evidence--the night Washington slipped and called him Gilbert and his own soft laugh into the phone, his whispered, “Gil. Call me Gil, mon coeur,” because by that time, of course, he had begun to use his little French epithets on Washington without bothering to tell the poor monolingual man what they meant.

And Lafayette could _feel_ the shyness dripping from Washington when he had answered with a clearing of his throat, followed by, “Then I am George.”

But then again, Lafayette reminds himself, he could be misinterpreting the entire situation. Washington could just be nice, could just want to be friends, could be too awkward to tell the flirting Frenchman no. And then there’s the not-at-all small matter that Washington is the President of the United States and Lafayette’s work in France leaves him unable to move for the near future, so even if they both wanted it, well…

But Lafayette can’t go back to Paris without knowing. He just can’t. And so if he’s to be stuck in the states for days anyway, why not drive to New York and make his intentions known? Kiss him like the fire of new countries celebrating their births? Why can’t he kiss Washington? He is going to kiss Washington. He is driving to kiss Washington. But, oh, Lafayette thinks with a vigor that seizes his nerves, will he kiss back?

***

It’s the end of the day before Lafayette makes it through traffic and huffs his way up to Washington’s office. In fact, he has only twenty minutes to spare before the office closes down and he thanks his lucky stars that Jefferson decided to wake up this morning at seven rather than eight.

He breezes past the staff with mildly curious looks--except for Laurens, who gapes like a fish and starts walking toward him, which only makes him speed up to rush past Washington’s secretary into his office. Fortunately, Laurens gets the hint and doesn’t pursue and also fortunate is the fact that George is sitting behind his desk, finishing a handwritten letter.

He looks up just as Lafayette clears the door and slides to a stop. Their eyes find each other and Lafayette swallows hard at the sight. After all, this is the first time they have been in the physical presence of each other since...well, since everything escalated. And Lafayette wonders how he hadn’t noticed Washington’s deep eyes before, how he can drown in the earthy tones of their depths.

“Gil,” Washington breathes and his pen drops before his eyes go wide and he looks down at his desk, clearing his throat. “Uh...Monsieur Lafayette. What brings you to the States?”

Lafayette reaches behind him and slowly shuts the door and Washington watches as it closes. Across from him, large windows stream in the New York skyline and cast sunlight upon the floor. “It does not matter,” Lafayette tells him, “I had time and so I came to see you.”

“Me?” Washington asks demurely and casts his gaze to Lafayette once again.

“You,” Lafayette tells him and starts his way slowly to the windows. “Am I...interrupting? Is this a bad time, mon coeur?”

“No!” Washington is quick to say, fidgeting in his chair. “No, it’s not a bad time. I have to leave for Martha’s soon. She and Angelica…” He trails off and then shakes his head. “I...wasn’t expecting you.”

Lafayette grabs the handle to the curtains and pulls them shut. “I was not expecting me, either. The business I am on is rather sudden, but I don’t want to talk of that.” He shakes the curtains into place. “I want to talk about us.”

He turns back to Washington and pulls his hands together at his chest to wring them before approaching the desk.

“Us?” Washington all but squeaks.

Lafayette rounds the desk slowly until he is just above Washington’s chair and then smiles, gives him a bright and wide expression that he hopes conveys his heart---all the times he has spent in his own apartment, alone and longing, all the times that only Washington’s voice could calm him. “Us, mon trésor,” he says and then leans down slowly to put his hands on both arms of Washington’s chair. He moves forward, catches Washington’s eyes wide, and then closes his own, touches their lips together and gives a soft little whimper despite himself.

The first kiss is chaste, just a press of lips upon lips and Lafayette is crucially aware that Washington has never done this before, never kissed another man. Which means he will forgive the hesitation, the freezing up of Washington’s muscles.

Lafayette draws back and gives him a little shy smile of his own, hoping he hasn’t misinterpreted their relationship. Hoping he has not made a fool of himself--a fool who crossed the ocean and the east coast for something that wasn’t there.

But he has no need to worry. Because with only a beat of their eyes speaking to one another, Washington is sliding his hand to the back of Lafayette’s head and pulling him in again, lips finding lips passionately this time. And more than that, Lafayette realizes. Washington is still pulling and Lafayette’s body falls over Washington as both hands come up to brace him--the one on his head sliding around his shoulders and the other around his lower back as Washington tilts him over his lap in a parody of a dip reminiscent of the best of romantic dancing that makes Lafayette’s French blood sing.

“Oh,” he breathes when their lips finally break and he can see Washington’s eyes again, “ _George_.” His hands go to either side of Washington’s face and he knows he must be a picture--pupils wide and mouth open, ponytail hanging behind him as it angles to the floor. This must be the reason, then, that Washington leans down and captures him another time, his tongue sweeping past Lafayette’s lips and making his toes curl as it touches his own. Lafayette moans quietly, but desperately, and clings for his life, Washington’s hands hot on his body, Washington’s lips sensual on his mouth. “Oh, mon coeur,” he whispers in between rounds of kissing, waves of their bodies crashing against one another and then away. Lafayette smiles when Washington takes him again and then gathers his breath quickly when they break. Washington keeps kissing the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck, as Lafayette gasps out his words. “You are a confident kisser,” he says with a chuckle and Washington hums his approval.

In one fluid motion, he pulls Lafayette up until he is sitting in Washington’s lap. He runs his fingers over Lafayette’s jawline and down to his neck as he says, sweet as any French saying, “Yes. When I am with someone I love.”

Lafayette smiles with his whole body and wraps his arms around Washington’s neck, has to kiss him again for that and they lose themselves once more in the touch of one another until Lafayette can barely stand it. His body is _ready_. So ready. But he also doesn’t want their first time-- _Washington’s_ first time--to be on his desk.

He pulls back and whispers to him, “And I am with someone I love. Take--” But he gets cut off by the buzzing of Washington’s phone. Frowning, Washington grabs it to see a text from Martha-- _Angelica wants to know ETA._

Washington bites his lip. “I...dinner party. They try to keep me social or otherwise I lock myself away like a church mouse.”

Lafayette smiles and takes the phone from him, types out quickly _Can’t make it. On a date._ He shows it to Washington before he sends, knowing his propensity for text anxiety, but Washington just gives him a warm smile and pulls his hand forward, using his thumb to hit the send button and the rest of his fingers to trail over Lafayette’s.

Lafayette smiles. “Take me home,” he begs and kisses him once more, sweet and soft this time, like the slow slide of spring into summer. “Put me in your bed.” Another kiss. “And show me how American men make love.”

***

Lafayette doesn’t pay attention to what Washington’s house looks like. He has no idea what color the living room is, what size the TV, if the kitchen has a dishwasher and where the fridge is. But, he figures, it’s far more important for him to notice the shape of Washington’s collarbone, the way his tongue tastes like little mints, the muscles of his arms that hold Lafayette and lead him back down the hallway, their feet crashing and stumbling as they try to toe their shoes off and walk at the same time.

Washington’s fingers find his pants and start unbuckling them and at some point one of them trips and they go crashing into the hallway wall, a picture knocking askew, but Washington doesn’t seem to care given his mouth on Lafayette’s that’s swallowing down the rather lewd and loud moan that’s rumbling out of it. Lafayette starts mumbling broken French whenever he catches a breath and he has half a thought that his poor lover is probably confused, but Washington seems to understand just fine given that his hand is in Lafayette’s boxers and he’s mumbling things just as loudly--places he wants to touch, positions he wants to be in and Lafayette’s eyes roll back in his head when Washington finds that perfect spot right below his ear that sets him aflutter.

He bucks his hips forward into Washington’s, his shoulders still pressed to the wall with the weight of Washington’s chest on him and that’s when Washington starts moving again, pulling him backwards and down the hall until they crash, half-clothed through the bedroom door and Washington pushes him down onto the bed, falling over him like chaotic poetry.

“Please, mon coeur,” Lafayette begs, “tell me you have things, oui?” He whips his shirt over his head and lets Washington’s hands explore him, his back arching as his fingers run over nipples and expanses of skin.

“Yeah,” Washington breathes and takes a second to fumble in his drawer while Lafayette shirks himself of his remaining clothing. Washington grumbles something about Angelica making him buy it “just in case,” and Lafayette sends a silent prayer to the woman in thanks. “Do I need…?” Washington asks awkwardly as Lafayette’s fingers pull at his zipper.

“No,” Lafayette says with a grin, “I’ve been waiting for you.” He tugs at Washington’s pants. “And if there was anything separating us,” he gets them open and starts sliding them off, pauses only when Washington sits back to get his legs out of them and then takes the opportunity to rid himself of his shirt. Naked, Lafayette pulls him in until they are chest to chest, “I would weep in desperation,” he finishes. “I want you to be with me, _in me_ , to come in me. George, make me yours.” 

Washington moans and dips his body over Lafayette’s, touches him all the way from chest to knee and Lafayette gasps at the feeling, at Washington hard at his hip, at himself hard on Washington’s stomach. “Do you want me…?” Lafayette asks, waving at the bottle Washington has pulled from the drawer, but Washington shakes his head and goes even further, opening the bottle himself and pouring some onto his finger.

“I want to feel every inch of you,” he whispers down to a shivering Lafayette. “No cutting corners.” He presses one finger inside slowly and Lafayette moans so damn loud and sinfully that he can feel Washington twitch against his skin. He gives a little breathless laugh, which only encourages Washington to press his finger in further and to kiss him, deep and passionate and dirty. _French_. He’ll make a Frenchman of him yet.

Washington takes his time and while Lafayette enjoys it, enjoys the feel of his finger as it explores, his mouth as it takes, his hands as they touch, he also _wants_ with a fiery, burning passion that is causing his cock to already leak, to already feel like his nerves are shaking and just a few mere seconds away. “More,” he begs and Washington adds a second finger, slowly scissors him open until Lafayette is wiggling like a snake in his bed. “Take me,” he whines up at Washington, drinking in the sight of the strong man above him who is shivering just as much as he is.

Washington swallows and nods, removes his hand and uses it instead to take hold of Lafayette’s hips, tilt him until he is at a good angle, and press himself to Lafayette’s entrance. “Yes?” he asks, his voice barely heard above the sound of their broken breath.

Lafayette reaches up, puts his hand on the back of Washington’s neck, and pulls him down. “Yes, mon coeur,” he answers. “Yes, always.” He kisses him, hot and deep, pouring all of his feeling into it, wrapping his heart up in Washington’s like he wraps his legs around him when he pushes inside, breaches him.

“Gil,” Washington whimpers against his lips and Lafayette gasps.

“George,” he answers back and rocks with him as Washington pushes inside, takes his time finding speed and angle until he is slowly thrusting in, staring into Lafayette’s eyes so intensely he feels he is the stars under the brightest telescope. “Tell me you love me,” Lafayette moans, each word spoken on the end of a thrust and Washington gasps down at him.

“I do,” he whispers, pushing inside, drawing out, pushing inside. “I have--”

Lafayette cuts him off with a kiss, keeping their tongues slow and their lips soft on one another. He loses sense of time, can only feel the slide of Washington’s skin against him, the thrill of his cock deep inside, the pressure of his hands, his lips. He feels his body building, reaching, desiring something and when Washington touches his aching dick, he arches like a cannon shot, his body rocking into Washington’s so sinfully perfectly that Washington’s cock hits home in just the right way. He cries out and just barely manages not to lose himself, but instead falls into the rhythm of Washington’s fingers stroking him home, his thumb on the slit, his body as it rocks forward and out.

Washington kisses his jawline and then his cheek, whispers in his ear as his body works upon Lafayette. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he breathes. “And I don’t want it to end. But come for me. We have forever to spend with each other, but come because of me, now. Because I love you and because you love me.”

And how could Lafayette not respond? The French in him rises up, the man in him bucks, but it is the soul of him that finishes between them, the soul of him that belongs to this man, that has been _waiting_ for this man and he cries out his name as he spills between them, shouts it to the walls and stutters upon it as his body shakes, as it grips Washington who is fucking him so sensually, but coming, too, Lafayette realizes. Emptying inside of him and moaning out _his_ name as he collapses on the bed right there with him, each of them tangled in their own breath and their own desperate yearnings.

“Je t'aimerai jusqu'à la fin des temps,” Lafayette whispers and when Washington raises his head with a furrow to his brow, he laughs softly and says, “I will love you until the end of time.”

Washington gives him a tiny little smile and pulls out, drops to the side and then gathers him up in strong, welcoming arms. “And I will fight everyday to keep the world spinning, so that I never have to stop loving you,” he answers.

Lafayette smiles at him and snuggles into his side, content and happier than he’s ever been, except for one small detail. He frowns and begins to ask, “But you live in America and I--”

“Hush, mon amour,” Washington says with only the smallest mispronunciation and Lafayette’s smile is so wide he wonders if it rivals the moon outside Washington’s window. “We can talk about that tomorrow.”

***

Lafayette wakes to light streaming in the window and strong arms around him, pulling him into a firm chest. He smiles, incredibly delighted to be the little spoon, and presses himself back against Washington, lays there for immeasurable moments as he slips into and out of sleep, until Washington stirs behind him and he rolls over onto his back to watch as his lover stretches.

Washington grins down at him, his joy wide and unfiltered, and Lafayette grins back, reaching up to run a thumb over his cheekbone. “Bonjour, mon coeur,” he whispers and receives a kiss for his words.

When Washington pulls back, he is all smiles and he reaches to touch an errant curl that has slipped from its hold either during the night or during their bout of passion before they fell asleep. Lafayette bats his hand away playfully with a quick, “Hey, watch the hair,” and Washington gives him another quirk of his lips, before leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“I have never seen a better sight in the morning than this,” he tells Lafayette who ducks his eyes in sudden shyness. “I never expected you to fly over here, but _god_ , am I happy you have.”

“I am happy I was given the opportunity to,” he says with a little grunt. “You can thank Jefferson and Hamilton for it. Jefferson called me all the way from France, in a snit over him, and I had to fly to detangle them from themselves. I am sure they are intertwined again, although I hope in a better fashion.”

Washington frowns. “What do you mean in a snit over him? I told them to take vacation.”

“They did.”

“Jefferson didn’t go back to Monticello?”

“Oh, yes, he went home.”

“Well, Hamilton’s not…”

“In Monticello?” Lafayette chuckles. “That he is.”

Washington grumbles. “A good part of the reason I told them they had to take a break was to get a break from _each other_. Trust Hamilton not to listen.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, mon coeur,” Lafayette says with a little wave. “You can’t tell a man in love what to do.”

“In love--”

“Hush,” Lafayette tells him with a smile. “I want to talk of us.”

Washington tilts up one side of his mouth. “That’s what got us here,” he says, his hand sliding over Lafayette’s chest.

“Yes,” Lafayette admits, “and I...I know that you are President and I know, of course, my own duties and I know what you’ll say, I _do_ , but hear me out, please. I was thinking...that for six months of the year in my political off-season, I could come here? And maybe stay with you? And I know your schedule is busy, but surely you could have even a week of a vacation?” He dips his eyes quickly to Washington’s and then looks away, fidgets with the blanket. “And maybe you could...take it to come to France? And the rest of the time, we could survive--”

“It would be hard.”

Lafayette frowns and keeps looking at the blanket. “I know. But it wouldn’t be forever. Your term will end and you could move to Paris if you desired. Or France will calm and I could come to New York. Couldn’t I?”

The silence descends and it kills Lafayette for the barest second before Washington says. “Virginia.”

Lafayette blinks and looks up at him. “Virginia?”

“I’m from Virginia. I prefer it over New York.”

“Virginia, huh? I have two rather good friends that live around there.” He smiles and then falters. “Does that mean...?”

Washington grins at him and reaches down, slides his fingers under Lafayette’s chin and uses it to hold him while he kisses him, soft and with promise. “It means I am in this, Gil. Always.”

Lafayette breaks out into a smile and chuckles to himself, unable to believe it. “Really, George?”

“Of course.” Another kiss. “You will always have me. Now stop _worrying_ and lie here with me.” Washington pulls Lafayette to his chest and Lafayette rests his head upon it, sighing in happiness. “Tell me all about Jefferson and Hamilton,” he says by way of conversation.

Lafayette laughs to himself and then gathers his breath. “Well…”

**Author's Note:**

> Interested in what's happening with Hamilton and Jefferson? Read [The Monticello Furlough](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6764224/chapters/15459736)!


End file.
